


More than just a fashion choice.

by Ann7121



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 18:23:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann7121/pseuds/Ann7121
Summary: Ahh..just read the fic.





	More than just a fashion choice.

“ Do you have to wear that tunic, Avon?” 

“Whats wrong with it?” Avon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he tried , unsuccessfully, to look over his shoulder and view his back.

“It’s not very practical. The sleeves are too tight.”

A collective hiss swept through the flight deck as each member of crew drew in a breath. Even Orac let out a nervous whine.

“Are you implying I’ve put on weight?” Avon enquired, with deceptive calm.

“I’m just....Good God no....” belatedly Blake recognised the chasm he opened up and into which he was about to tumble. “ No...NO. You look...fine. NO.” An edge of panic crept into his normally imperturbable delivery as Avon’s eyes tightened further to a degree that was undoubtably painful and quite possibly injurious. “More than fine, Avon. You look... very prett...No handsome. You look handsome,” he finished with a rush, relieved to see a look of slightly fatuous satisfaction replace the thin-lipped outrage on the Computer Tec’s face. 

Another hiss, this time of exhaled breath as the flight deck occupants relaxed.

“ So what is your problem, Blake?” Avon demanded, throwing himself flamboyantly on to the couch, to display to advantage a shapely leg encased in thigh-high leather boots. “Not all of us are happy to go around with what resembles two giant bingo wings flapping from their arm pits.”

“You must have noticed the issue we have on away missions..”. It was an apparent non sequitur but Blake had a lot of experience with Avon. The best way to stop him dismissing a suggestion out of hand was to throw him a bone, absorb the inevitable snarky aside, and then while he was congratulating himself, sneak up on the main thrust of your argument via a circuitous route.

“Aside from being shot at or menaced by Travis?” Avon duly supplied.

“ Yes apart from that.” Blake smiled urbanely. “The problem I had in mind was more to do with juggling.”

“ Juggling, Blake? Are we a travelling circus, then? Mind you we often resemble one, especially when Vila accompanies us.”

Blake ignored the indignant, “ Hey!” from Vila and circled closer to his main point. 

“Equipment, Avon. Refreshments. Bombs. Transporting them on missions can be difficult.”

“ Not really..” Vila demurred. “I take my red box..”

“And you take two hands to carry it, “ Avon pointed out. “ You’re not much use when an attack comes with your hands full. Mind you,” he continued scathingly, “ You’re not much use, period.”

“I resent that,” Vila retorted with spirit. “ you’ve had many a sandwich from my red box. Sustaining things, sandwiches when under attack.”

“ Exactly!” Blake seized on the point with enthusiasm. “Sandwiches. How can we transport sandwiches, bombs, all the things we need to complete our missions and still have our hands free to gun down attackers?”

“If this is building up to a suggestion that we all carry red boxes with us, you can count me out of future missions.”

“ I agree, Avon. It wouldn’t be practical, ” Cally contributed. She had been following the discussion with furrowed brow.

“For once I also agree with Avon,” Jenna added from her position at the piloting station. “ It’s not the sort of accessory, I’d be seen dead with.”

“No of course not. I’m suggesting....these,” said Blake, throwing out his arms and displaying his bat wings.

“Sleeves Blake? You’re suggesting that baggy sleeves become an essential tool in our fight against the Federation? I draw the line at that..”

“But look how roomy they are Avon,” Blake persuaded...well...persuasively. “I can fit bombs, wire cutters, a nice bottle of red...olives ..in them and I still have my hands free.”

“They’re a fashion abomination,” Avon declared decisively. “However, I concede you do have a point. I could conceal a bottle of Vichy water and a good size salami in these boots. Oh and a bomb of course,” he added hastily.

......

“Why does Avon wear that jacket with those hideous shoulder pads?” Tarrant asked Vila as he waited to be teleported to Teal.

“He’s very fond of bratwurst for his morning snack.”


End file.
